by Clare Smith
Whilst the crowd were still applauding and Jonderill stood fixed to the spot the hooded man’s companion stepped forward and placed a deep grey robe over his outstretched arm, completely covering the wand.
The magician lent forward so only Jonderill could hear what he said. "You have much to discover about the nature of spells and their power, apprentice, but when you have come to understand the source of your magic and have learnt what you are, come to me and I will show you the mysteries which lie beyond, the mysteries which I think are your inheritance."
He stepped back, allowing Animus and Plantagenet to enthusiastically embrace Jonderill and when Jonderill looked up again the magician and his companion had gone.
"Now who would have thought he would have done such a thing for a mere apprentice?" said Plantagenet, indicating the robe as he began to guide Jonderill from the city square. "You have been greatly honoured my boy, a white robe is amongst the most revered of all magicians."
“Who was he?” asked Jonderill. “I thought Maladran was meant to be here.”
“That was Callabris and his master is King Borman of Northshield who is Steppen’s guest. It looks like he has at last persuaded Callabris to be his bound magician. Sarrat won’t like that at all.” Animus took the robe from Jonderill’s arms and looked at it admiringly, “He has a strong protector too who I hope is good at his job as there are far too few whites left these days. You know, Plantagenet, we should have thought about getting Jonderill a robe in our colours, but it never crossed my mind.”
"Nor mine," admitted Plantagenet, "but to be given a robe the colour of this one is beyond anything we could have offered, so few are chosen to wear the white."
“Or the black,” put in Animus.
Jonderill looked at the dark grey cloth draped across the magician’s arm and then questioningly at Plantagenet. "The robe is very special, it will grow with you and the shade will change as you become more powerful. When you have reached your full power the robe will be pure white.”
“Or black,” added Animus
“It is a portent of what you can become, Jonderill, now that you finally have the use of your magic."
Jonderill stopped suddenly and stepped away from his two masters looking at each of them in turn. "Wasn't it you who moved the broom?"
The magicians looked at each other with blank expressions and then at Jonderill, both shaking their head.
"You mean you didn't move it?" asked Animus incredulously.
No," replied Jonderill, "I had no power at all."
"Then who could have done such a thing?" questioned Plantagenet.
"And why?" whispered Jonderill but so quietly nobody heard.
*
“So, is the boy a threat to us?”
King Borman draped a leg languorously over the arm of his padded chair and toyed with the goblet of Vinmore’s rich red wine as he studied the magician seated opposite him. Long white robe, long white moustache, long white hair; if it were not for the intensity of his green eyes the man could have been a corpse. Borman took a long drink of wine and scowled in irritation. “Well?”
“In the short term no, the boy has talent but it’s hidden from him. He has never been properly trained to call on it and the two old magicians’ are retired and have little skill at teaching. In the long term, if he trained with a master, then he could be a force to be reckoned with.”
“And has he shown what colour he will be?”
The magician steepled his fingers and tapped the two extended ones against his upper lip in thought. “I believe he is of the white but I cannot be sure. If I were certain of his ancestry then I would have a better idea but the only people who are likely to know that secret are the boy himself, Maladran or, if my guess is right, the man who ordered his father’s death and I am assuming that you don’t want me to ask any of those.”
“What about the goddess’s enclave, wouldn’t the masters know what he was?”
“It’s possible but they are unlikely to reveal anything to me. High Master Razarin and I don’t see eye to eye.”
Borman gave a snort of derision and put his goblet heavily onto an ornately carved side table. He stood and strolled over to the long glass doors which opened out onto a balcony and pushed the heavy drapes aside so he could see across to the magicians’ tower.
“Do the two old fools know who the boy might be?”
“No, and I gave no hint of it except to leave a grey robe with the boy. However, they might guess by my unexpected presence here that the boy is special in some way.”
“We’ll have to keep a close eye on him until I am ready to move. I don’t want anyone else to take an interest in him.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem, he doesn’t have the skill to move away from the protection that Animus and Plantagenet give him and, should the day come when he has, I have told him that he should search me out.”
Borman turned away from the doors and gave the white magician a hard look. “Don’t go soft on me Callabris. If the boy turns out to be a threat to my plans then it is you who will have to deal with him and I don’t want the thought of who his father might have been clouding your judgment.”
Callabris bowed his head in acquiescence. Crossing to the large polished wood dining table Borman studied the map of the six kingdoms spread across its gleaming surface and anchored at each corner by small stone paperweights carved to resemble bunches of grapes. When manipulated correctly the four small bunches clipped together to form a single bunch but, much to his annoyance, Borman was yet to discover how the puzzle worked.
There was a loud knock on the room’s door and without waiting for a call to enter Borman’s Guardcaptain strode into the room. He pushed the door shut behind him and saluted the king with his left hand across his chest and fist on heart. From the shadows the magician’s protector quickly stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of the long knife at his side and his eyes fixed intently on the Guardcaptain. Rastor gave him a cold look of contempt and turned back to address the king.
“Your Majesty, all the preparations have been made for your return to Northshield at dawn tomorrow.”
“And the other matter?”
“The task was simple, Swordmaster Dilor showed me everything. The guards here are professional and well trained and Dilor is experienced and a good tactician but the guards are few in number and many are just boys; not one of them have drawn blood in anger. Each town and village in Vinmore has its own guard troop made up of farmers and shop keepers who practice every seventh day, but they too have never been called upon to fight. Vinmore is a very peaceful and very vulnerable little kingdom.”
Borman grinned wolfishly and beckoned his Guardcaptain over to the map. “It wouldn’t take much then for us to move our army through the Deeling Pass or across Sarrat’s borders into Vinmore. If we moved quickly we could be in Alewinder in less than a moon cycle and with very little opposition.”
Callabris stood and crossed to the table with Allowyn two steps behind. He looked carefully at the map and grunted in disagreement.
“You have something to say about this?”
“Yes, My Lord. I think the good Guardcaptain has counted the soldiers of Vinmore well and indeed Vinmore does appear to be a very peaceful and vulnerable kingdom, but I think you have underestimated its hidden assets.”
Rastor looked at him in irritation but Borman just raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Stephen has two very strong allies.” He placed his long finger on the kingdom to the north of Vinmore. “King Porteous is Steppen’s neighbour and close friend, some say even the real father of his child. He would most certainly come to Steppen’s aid if you were to invade Vinmore.”
“Porteous is fat, foolish and pompous. His eldest son is an idiot and his younger one is a lazy womaniser.”
“That may be true but Essenland has an army as large as Northshield’s commanded by a close friend of Swordmaster Dilor who is an excellent commander. Should the younger boy we
d the Princess Daun, the army will be obliged to come to their rescue. You should also not underestimate the elder son, Vorgret, who is a nasty piece of work but full of cunning.” He moved his finger down the map. “To the south you have Tarbis which also has a large standing army with an experienced commander. Prince Newn is too young to rule yet but his uncle is a wily old slyhunter; he would not want to see an invading army on his northern border.”
Borman scowled at the map and tapped his fingers on the edge of the table in irritation. “You’re right of course, we couldn’t win if two armies came down on us, at least not without destroying Vinmore and its wealth, which would defeat the object of our annexation.”
He thought for a moment and the others waited, studying the map. “Rastor, my plans have changed. I think I need to pay a visit to Prince Newn and his uncle and see the situation for myself. I will take you, a small honour guard of five men and all the horses and spare weapons we can muster. Let the rest of the guards share horses or walk back to Northshield. I will also take Lord Rothers with me, he might come in useful. Callabris, I don’t think you would find a warm welcome in Tarbis, so take the men back and keep an eye on things whilst I am gone. Guardcaptain, make the arrangements and on your way out pour me some more wine.”
Guardcaptain Rastor frowned and flushed in anger at being so easily dismissed but knew better than to argue with his king. He saluted to Borman’s back, poured the wine as ordered and left the room making a point of closing the door louder than was necessary.
“You shouldn’t treat your Guardcaptain so dismissively. One of these days he’s going to lose that temper of his and do something you will both be sorry for.”
“Don’t bother about Rastor, he has no feelings and in any case I own the man from the top of his arrogant head to the bottom of his decorated boots.” Borman returned to his comfortable chair and waved the magician into the one opposite. Allowyn took up his previous position in the shadows behind Callabris. “Did you know that I’m related to Prince Newn? There’s some sort of connection on my great grandmother’s side so if his uncle were to disappear I would have a legitimate claim to the regency.” He picked up his glass and sipped at his wine, watching Callabris over the rim and waited for a response.
“That is a possibility, My Lord, but it would be a brief regency as the prince is a young man and will be crowned in a few summers.” Callabris paused and looked intently at his master waiting for him to comment.
“Yes, unless something happens to him.”
“You have not forgotten that I cannot use my power to take another’s life.”
Borman shrugged, “There are other things which can prevent a prince from becoming a king. And now, what is the news from Leersland? How is the usurper and his pet fanghound?”
“Sarrat continues to consolidate his position and uses Maladran to keep the restless nobles in their place.”
“And High Lord Coledran?”
The High Lord is not the man he once was since Maladran murdered his son and heir. He is bitter and twisted and becomes less cautious about his words and actions and will one day become a liability. For now he continues to take your money to bribe the other lords into thwarting Sarrat in whatever way they can without being accused of treason. It is an irritant to Sarrat, nothing more.
“Is it enough to keep him occupied and away from our borders?”
“For the time being yes, but the time will come when you will have to provide further distractions, especially if you wish to ride an army across his lands into Vinmore.”
“I have some ideas about that, which I might pursue after my visit to Tarbis, but for now let’s keep supporting the High Lord in his attempts to undermine Sarrat.” Borman emptied the glass and placed it on the table, filling it half full with the last of the wine from the flagon beside him. “Vinmore produces the finest wines in all of the six kingdoms. I am surprised that Sarrat has not invaded and taken the place by force by now, he must have his eyes on it too.”
“That’s Maladran’s doing; he’s clever and advises Sarrat to use other means rather than force and most of the time Sarrat listens to him.” Borman raised an eyebrow in question.
“It was Maladran’s idea that Sarrat should court the Princess Daun and he suggests what gifts Sarrat should send to her to keep her interested.”
“Does he indeed? It would be most awkward if Sarrat should bribe his way into the girl’s bed.”
“That’s unlikely to happen. We have an arrangement with Sarrat’s spy in Steppen’s palace to intercept any gifts sent from Leersland before they reach the princess. His loyalty to you is assured as he sells the gifts on and keeps the proceeds. That is very profitable for him but deadly if he decides to change sides. So far the only gift which has reached her was a horse and that might have been missed if it had been sold on.”
“The king laughed. “You are clever Callabris, but so is Maladran. Perhaps we should make him disappear?”
“That wouldn’t be simple. Those who wear the black are not easily slain, they have a sixth sense for danger and unlike those of us who wear the white they can kill but cannot be killed by taking their hands. If you wanted to remove Maladran you would have to take the torc from his neck, by which Sarrat controls him, and then kill him whilst the madness has him. It would not be an easy task.”
Borman went to reply but a quiet knock on the door and the entrance of his personal servant interrupted him.
“Your Majesty, your bath is prepared and your clothes have been laid out for you to wear at the farewell feast King Steppen is holding in your honour. You do need to get ready very soon.”
Borman stood and shrugged, “Even kings have to do what they are told sometimes. Think on what I have said and we will talk about dealing with Maladran when I return from Tarbis.”
Callabris stood and waited for the king to leave the room. His protector moved from the shadows to his side. “You don’t think the king was serious about taking on Maladran do you?”
“He is a serious man who considers all possibilities.”
“But after what happened to your brother surely he knows the danger.”
Callabris sighed and put his hand on Allowyn’s shoulder. “He cares nothing about the death of my brother or yours. He only cares about himself and his power; it is the way of the rulers of the Eastern kingdoms. Now, my friend, let’s go and prepare for tonight’s feast and our journey home.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
PART THREE
Promises
CHAPTER TWELVE
Revenge
"I don't like this, My Lady," said Jarrul, running his fingers through his sand-coloured hair and then replacing his huntsman's cap with its decorative coolly bird feather. "If anything goes wrong with your plan the consequences will be dire." "Nothing is going to go wrong, I've planned everything down to the last detail."
Tarraquin dripped the deep brown liquid carefully into the small keg of wine and replaced the bung, then waited for Jarrul to tap the bung back in place with a leather-covered, wooden mallet. To all but the most trained eye it would be impossible to detect that the bung had been removed and then replaced again.
"I know your plans are good but magicians don't die easily."
"With his throat cut, his heart torn out and his hands cut off he will die easily enough, in fact too easily. I just wish I could prolong his suffering for the length of time it took my brother to die."
Jarrul shook his head in disappointment. He was young to be the huntsman for such a large estate but his skill as a tracker and a trapper ensured the highly prized position had been his on the death of his father. He was famous not only for the number of animals he caught each summer but the quick and humane way he despatched all of his victims. Jarrul abhorred unnecessary suffering and the thought that the girl he admired above all others would wish to inflict a lengthy torment on another person sickened him.
"It still doesn't seem right that a woman should take a life."
Tarraquin
turned on the huntsman with an unaccustomed ferocity. "Are you getting cold feet, Jarrul, or have you so quickly forgotten what that man did to my brother?"
Jarrul shook his head in denial. "I haven't forgotten or forgiven. Dennin was like my own brother and I would gladly see Maladran dead if it would bring him back, but it won’t, and I fear for your life and the lives of everyone else. If anything goes wrong with your plan we will all pay."
Tarraquin walked to the window of the stone huntsman’s lodge and stared out of the window watching the activity in the stable yard. "Well nothing is going to go wrong. Even if I fail, which I won't, I have arranged that no blame can fall on any of my family or the servants. Now, Jarrul, please take this wine up to the house before my father changes his mind about which wine to serve tonight and whatever you do, make sure my father doesn't start drinking it until dinner has started. The last thing I want is him dropping to sleep in front of the magician before I’m ready to confront him."
Jarrul sighed in resignation and hoisted the keg onto a well muscled shoulder. He left by the rear door being careful not to be seen and headed to the back entrance of the Great House where servants ran in and out with fare for the night's banquet. Tarraquin watched him from the doorway as he disappeared inside, knowing that the loyal Jarrul would not relinquish the keg into another's hands until he dropped it into its cradle within the dining hall. The wine would have to stand for at least six candle lengths before it would be ready for drinking, by which time dinner would be under way. Hopefully by now her father would have already found something else to drink and would leave the dinner wine until later.
